All Living Things
by UA
Summary: Daryl read somewhere once that dogs were like toddlers.


**This is what happens when you guys give me prompts, lol. My brain goes rogue. Not much Caryl in this chapter, but I promise this *is* a Caryl story of sorts. A short one, only two, three, four parts planned tops. Hope you enjoy.**

* * *

Daryl read somewhere once that dogs were like toddlers. Some scientific study or something. Maybe an article in some waste of paper magazine in a doc in the box waiting room. He can't remember where for sure but that don't matter none. Point is, he didn't put much stock in it then. Thought it crazy. Some new-age bullshit dreamed up by somebody with too many initials after their name and not enough common sense in their fancy Ivy League educated brain.

That was before Luce.

* * *

Oh, she'd looked innocent enough when he first caught sight of her. Big liquid eyes staring up at him—one brown, the other one blue and clear as a July sky—and a ratty old sneaker clenched between her teeth as her black and white speckled tail thump-thump-thumped hopefully against the cracked concrete floor of her assigned jail cell.

Make no mistake. Good intentions aside, it _was_ just that. A cramped, rectangular box with bars and a lock.

So yeah. Maybe somewhere in his subconscious Daryl thought of his own kin, felt a tug of sympathy for his fool brother—never mind that he'd more than earned his extended stay status upstate—and that's what slowed his steps. _Hell_. Maybe it was something else entirely that made him stutter to a complete stop and clear his throat. "What 'bout that one?"

Naked hope mixed with something else flared in the eyes of the pimply faced volunteer tasked with giving him the grand tour for about three whole seconds before his expression went blank and his voice high, somehow cracking on the single syllable that left his flapping lips. "Luce?"

"That her name?"

"Yeah," the kid managed.

"So?" Daryl pressed. "What about her? She don't look vicious or nothing."

"Oh, no, no, no," the boy sputtered in delayed response. Pushed his slipping glasses further up the bridge of his nose. "Luce is a real love muffin."

It took conscious effort not to let his eyes roll clear to the back of his head at that pronouncement, but truthfully, the fact that the kid wasn't more in his face with his sales pitch niggled at Daryl. "Well, then. What's the problem? Because you ain't exactly giving out any ringing endorsements and I thought this place was about second chances and shit." _That_ did it. Made guilt stretch those skinny shoulders wider. Even pushed a couple of inches into the boy's toes and helped him stand taller, bringing him almost nose to Daryl's own scruff-covered chin. "Well?" he gruffly prodded when the kid glanced down then back up again, finally meeting his eyes.

"Luce can be kind of a…_challenge_."

"Pfft. That all?" His whole life had been a challenge. He wasn't afraid. 'Specially not of the friendly dog that gave him a couple of experimental sniffs before bathing his oil-smudged fingers with unabashed affection.

"It's just…"

"Thought you people were in the business of finding homes for these animals? Making yourselves feel good."

"We are. But Luce is something of a lost cause. She's been returned so many times…"

"You gonna show me where to sign the paperwork or not? Ain't got all day."

"Right this way, Mr. Dixon."

* * *

So maybe he hadn't exactly been open to listening, but labels like _challenge_ and _lost_ _cause _triggered painful memories of growing up Dixon best left buried and besides.

All living things deserved a chance, didn't they? A _real_ one.

* * *

Now Daryl ain't gonna pretend Luce didn't behave on that first trip home.

She _did_. Rode shotgun in his rusted old Ford like a bonafide genteel lady's what she done, that dingy old shoe tucked between her crossed paws.

That dog plumb convinced him that do-gooding bunch back at the shelter were exaggerating, blowing things way out of proportion with their scare tactics, and he felt good about his decision. Felt like some kind of hero for the first time in his often-times miserable, lonely life. He always was up for a challenge and this one? Weren't much in the way of challenges the way he saw it. He was confident they were gonna get on just fine. Perhaps a little _too_ confident, hindsight being 20/20 and all that because in the days, weeks, months ahead? _Well_.

Everybody's heard the saying 'bout suckers, right?

* * *

Daryl's humble abode wasn't much.

Just four walls slapped together and a roof above his head, a collection of thrift store furniture, and a little tv that sat on top of the kitchen counter, the picture so small it fit between his thumb and outstretched pointer finger.

_No_. It wasn't much. Barely fit the description of cabin even. But he kept it neat and tidy, his few possessions always in their place, and it was the first thing that had ever truly been his free and clear so there was a certain measure of existing pride when he introduced Luce to her new home. "This is it. Mi casa is su casa. Some shit like that."

The dog walked around, poking her wet nose in this corner and that. Did a little investigating, did a complete circle of the place and didn't let go of that slobber-soaked shoe for love nor money 'til she spied his ashtray, piled high with old cigarette butts.

"Hey. Hey, hey, _hey_. Them's bad for you. Don't…_shit_."

* * *

"Two seconds and they were gone. _Swear_. Had no idea she'd even look at them and think they taste good. None," Daryl insisted.

"Smoking _is_ a nasty habit," the veterinarian was faintly reproachful with his remark. "She showing any odd behavior?"

"Wouldn't know," Daryl admitted sheepishly. "Brought her home from the shelter just today. Won't let that damn shoe out of her sight, but other than that? Guess not."

"Had signs of an upset stomach or drooled more than one would think usual for a dog?"

"Usual?" he scoffed. "What's usual?" The old man's wizened white brows pinched together sternly when he frowned and Daryl backed several steps up with his tone. Muttered a quiet, respectful, "Nah."

"She doesn't seem to be exhibiting any obvious signs of toxicity yet, but I'd like to keep her under observation for a while just to be safe."

Daryl frowned but readily agreed. "Yeah. Whatever you need to do."

"Don't worry. Something tells me your Luce is going to be just fine."

* * *

The ashtray got moved out of reach, put away completely when Daryl decided to have another go at giving up smoking entirely but no matter.

Luce found all manner of other things to vacuum up in that eager mouth of hers.

Daryl had always considered himself fleet of foot. He weren't no slouch when it come to brains either. He wouldn't have survived Will Dixon's house of horrors if he hadn't been either of those things. That said, it soon became obvious he had to up his game because anything within reach? Anything that managed to find the floor for even a millisecond?

All bets were off.

* * *

Thing 'bout Luce?

She weren't all that discerning 'bout the things she gobbled up from the floor. Could be a fallen McDonald's French fry. A loose button that had finally given up the ghost. A pair of stank-ass socks. Even a whole tube of toothpaste he'd bought from the Dollar General only days before.

"This rate, gonna have to put everything I own in a safe," Daryl groaned.

"Dogs are like little children, Son. Very rarely can they be let out of your sights."

"Beginning to see that."

"Otis already has Luce's IV started and Patricia's collecting blood for her tests. She's going to be here for a few days at least. She's got her shoe and my daughters at her beck and call. Get on outta here and get some rest. Lord knows you need it."

* * *

Luce survived. Course she did. Had more lives than a cat that dog.

Before too long, Daryl sat her down for what religious folk call a Come to Jesus meeting. "Listen here. Me and you? We need to come to an understanding."

She just stared up at him the way she had back at that shelter, with her big Bambi eyes and her quivering nose, her pink tongue sneaking out to swipe a stripe across his hand.

Daryl felt that big ball of frustration he'd been carrying around start to unravel and slip like sand through his fingertips. It was damn hard to stay pissed at that face. "From now on, you eat only what you're supposed to. Y'hear?"

Luce merely lowered her head onto her speckled paws in response. Sighed and started gnawing at the frayed laces of her shoe.

* * *

Daryl likened the next few weeks to a détente of sorts. A period of much needed calm. That said, he didn't take Doc Greene off of speed dial. He'd been accused of being many things, but he weren't no fool.

* * *

Daryl stroked a gentle hand down Luce's back and her head lolled in disinterest, causing his frown to deepen as he repositioned the phone between his raised shoulder and ear. "She ain't eatin'. I even picked up a bag of that expensive shit. Tried feedin' her that. You sure she ain't sick?"

Doc Greene's voice over the line betrayed nothing but patience. "Have you changed anything about her routine, Son? Dogs can be creatures of habit, much like people."

Daryl thought on it and he couldn't rightly say he had. "Picked up a few extra shifts here and there. Paid the kid down the street a couple of bucks to check in on her, make sure she didn't murder what's left of my couch cushions. Big mistake."

"How so?"

"Little smartass didn't do nothing but take the money and eat all my food. Made a bigger mess than the dog. If her grandma hadn't of…_shit_. Why didn't I think of that before?"

"Think of what, Son?"

"Listen, Doc. Gotta go."

* * *

He let out a small sound of triumph soon as he pulled the stinky sneaker from the depths of a week's worth of trash, shook the bits of Ramen noodles clinging to it free, and headed back inside. Once there, he squatted just a few feet away from his furry companion's prone body. Held his arm out in offering and asked, "This it? This what you been makin' yourself sick over?"

Luce's eyes damn near teared up when they caught sight of him, caught sight of what was in his hand, and an almost human sob escaped her.

The sound was so mournful Daryl felt his own throat tightening up, and he glanced down at the shoe in his hand. _Really_ looked at it for perhaps the first time, child-size and pink beneath all the dirt and the grime. "Knew her, didn't ya? Loved her, too. Can tell," he gruffly muttered as the dog crept close and gingerly took the shoe between her teeth, curled into the half circle of his arms and snuffled into his neck. "S'alright, Luce. S'alright. Ain't lettin' nobody take it again. Promise."

Luce's tail started a slow, steady thump against the dusty floor and she whined with his words.

* * *

That night was the first of many Luce slept snuggled at his feet. The first of many Daryl dreamed of a little girl with pink shoes.

* * *

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